Remember My Name
by Thelogicalviolinist
Summary: Puck discovers a girl that just might give them an edge at Nationals, and she turns New Directions - and Puck - upside down. Takes place in Season 3 between Regionals and Nationals.
1. Chapter 1

Puck sauntered down the empty hallway whistling to himself. The hallway was deserted, but he still made a point of hunching his shoulders and gluing a self-satisfied smirk to his face. Who knows, maybe Coach Sue installed some hidden cameras in the hallways to make sure her Cheerios never ate or talked to people below their social standing, so it was worth the extra effort to look intimidating. Because there's nothing more badass than looking like a BAMF on a grainy surveillance-cam feed.

Puck glanced at his watch. It read 3:21, and the second hand wasn't moving. _Dammit_, he thought. _Life guards should tell you not to wear your watch in the pool. This thing was expensive. I could hock my mohawk on the black market and still not get enough money to get this thing fixed._ Being late was to be expected of him, but even grade-A rebels such as himself couldn't miss anything important, especially anything that might require his obviously superior opinion. They were brainstorming set lists for Nationals today.

Cursing, he kicked a locker just for fun. The only room he knew of that had a clock was the auditorium, because he used to get busy in there with Santana back when she was into guys, and he had to make sure she was never late to Cheerios practice, or she'd kick him so hard in the nads even his great-grandchildren wouldn't be able to have kids. Of course, he could always check a classroom, but there were probably nerds in there doing their homework, and that was one pathetic display he didn't care to witness. And he sure as hell wasn't going to the choir room early. Not if it meant listening to Berry present her pre-lecture notes on why her song selections for Nationals were the obvious choices.

So the auditorium it was. Puck spun on his heels and headed off in the opposite direction, breaking into a run. When he reached the auditorium, he skidded to a halt, wrenched the door open, and almost flung himself inside but stopped himself almost immediately. As soon as he had opened the heavy steel door, he was met by a sound, unearthly and disturbing, coming from the center of the stage.

There was somebody on the stage. A girl, by the looks of it, although most chicks didn't wear jeans and horizontal-striped crewneck sweaters anymore. She was pacing back and forth on the stage, leaning side to side and bending her knees as if to jump into the audience. She looked almost drunk. But she wasn't, he could tell. She was playing a violin and clearly very into it.

Puck heard violinists all the time. There was that fussy-looking Asian chick who played in the band sometimes, and the last time he went to Breadstix there had been this top-heavy Russian dude in a cummerbund playing some interminable sappy romance music as he waddled from table to table. But this sounded different. She was good, there was no doubt about that. Ever since Blaine showed up he had been trying to teach everyone how to tell if notes were in tune or out of tune, and he hadn't really been paying attention because he had just been staring at Berry's ass the whole time while she demonstrated her perfect pitch skills with her back to the piano as Blaine plunked out random notes. But he did learn something, and he could tell that this chick played in tune. But it wasn't just that. There was something about her sound that managed to traversd the expanse of the auditorium and burrowed a searing hole in his ear. He knew what pain felt like, and this sounded like it. In a good way.

He found himself quietly shutting the door to the auditorium and taking a seat in the back, under the shadow of the balcony so she wouldn't see him and get spooked. Because, you know, he was kind of scary. He found himself closing his eyes and just listening to the sound of the violin, as it dipped and faded and accelerated and decelerated. Whatever the hell she was playing, it sounded like fear and longing and agony, and it sure scared the shit out of him. He knew it couldn't be classical music because it sounded too cool. He opened his eyes and focused in on her fingers. They were doing some ridiculous acrobatics right now, and it kind of hurt is eyes to look at it. His eyes traveled to her face, which was contorted in concentration. She was playing some crazy fast part now and her fingers looked like little hammers, scurrying up and down the fingerboard with the agility of a spider. This girl had talent. Crazy talent.

And then it was all over. She stopped playing and lowered the violin from her chin. Now that her face wasn't all smashed up against her instrument, he could finally see it properly. She had a long, sharp nose – longer than Berry's – and big green eyes. She wasn't wearing any makeup, and her bushy shoulder-length hair framed her olive-skinned face in unkempt waves. In other words, not the best looking chick he had ever seen, but not the worst. She had one of those faces that looked better glaring than it did smiling.

Puck jumped as a door slammed behind him. He looked back at the stage, but it was empty. The violin girl was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

"All I'm saying is if you hadn't kept making noise about that Beatles/T-Pain mash-up, we'd have something to show for a week's worth of set-list nomination parties."

Kurt, Puck, and Santana made their way slowly through the Performing Arts' corridor as they were buffeted by the crowds streaming down the hallway. Why was it that when anyone from the glee club decided to walk from classroom to classroom, everybody seemed to be walking in the opposite direction? It was Friday afternoon and the bell had just rung, and everyone was practically evacuating the school so they could get on with their Friday night activities. Everyone except the glee club.

"Like, we started on Monday. This is taking longer than Kim Kardashian's marriage," said Kurt.

"Speak for yourself, Von Trapp," said Santana. "The Troubletones have already decided on the perfect angsty-yet-crowd-pleasing selection for Nationals. You guys are the ones still flapping your gabs about which artistically inferior song from the '80s you want to perform this time."

"Oh yeah?" snorted Puck. "Let me guess – Brittany has roped you all into doing a mash-up of 'Rainbow Connection' and the Sesame Street theme song."

"Shut your pot hole, Puckerman. When was the last time _you_ had a girlfriend?" retorted Santana hotly. "As a matter of fact, we're doing the subtle yet explosive 'Shake It Out' by Florence and the Machine."

Kurt squealed and clapped his hands together excitedly.

"Ohmigod! That is _perfect._ You and Mercedes are going to _kill_ that song!" he gushed. "I wish we could come up with something half as fabulous."

He shook his head and sighed dramatically.

"You stole Adele, you stole Destiny's Child, now you're stealing Florence? Honestly, Santana, there'll be no good artists left!"

"Tell me about it," smirked Santana. "You said it yourself. We're just better."

"Only because you've got so much girl power," teased Kurt. "Sometimes I feel like – "

SPLASH! Out of nowhere a cherry-flavored icy torrent flew straight into Kurt's perfectly moisturized face. He stood there gasping and spluttering while Puck and Santana just blinked in shock.

"Look at that," guffawed Azimio, wielding an empty slushy cup and a self-satisfied grin. Kurt's eyes shot daggers at him as he glared up at him through his sopping, sticky bangs. "You've got a new fashion statement, _girl_," Azimio continued. "Good luck rocking that!"

"Hey!"

Puck and Santana spun around. A short-ish, mousy-looking girl was marching toward Azimio, arms folded across her chest in defiance.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" she demanded. Her vivid green eyes looked like they could burn a hole through steel. With a start, Puck realized that it was the violin girl he had seen in the auditorium on Monday. He had almost forgotten. Well, not quite. He had to explain to Mr. Schue why he had been late to the first set-list nomination party ("Sorry I'm late, Mr. Schue, I was at the doctor's office; they think I might have syphilis…"), and ever since then he had been getting some very concerned voicemail messages from Ms. Pillsbury insisting she was available if he ever needed to talk, although he only said syphilis because he heard it was some disease that made you go crazy, and it's not nice to ask crazy people why they're crazy so he thought he could get away with it, but he had a feeling that maybe syphilis was something different. He made a mental note to Google it when he got home.

"None of your business, Brain Trust!"

Azimio's booming voice snapped him back into reality. The girl had firmly planted herself in between Kurt (who was still spluttering) and Azimio, and was staring him down like she planned to make a meal out of him.

"Maybe not, but I'm having trouble understanding why it's any of yours," she challenged. Even though she was a good foot shorter than Azimio, she still managed to sneer down at him.

"Come again?"

"You heard me!" she snapped. "You want me to believe that this kid did something to you personally, so personally that it seemed to merit this completely uncivilized form of retaliation?"

"It's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean," Azimio guffawed. He was on familiar ground now.

The girl blinked as a slow and triumphant smile rose on her face. Puck was almost frightened by the confidence with which she slowly took a step towards Azimio, crossing her arms firmly across her chest.

"I understand," she said. Her voice was much quieter now, much more controlled. Every syllable sizzled with a suppressed animosity. Puck had a feeling that this couldn't mean anything good for Azimio.

"I understand," she repeated. "You just parade around this school with your false sense of accomplishment, and you think people are impressed but they really just don't like you, so they won't have anything to do with you and you just can't tell the difference. And you know why? Because you're stupid. You think that tossing slushies into people's faces and throwing people into lockers adds something to your life. I know you're good at being selfish, so think about this: what's in it for you? What is it about tormenting other people that is going to get you anywhere? And I know about ninety percent of this is going straight over your head because you're dumber than a bag of rocks, but just remember that everybody here knows you're nothing more than an oaf. I'm assuming I won't have to define that three letter word for you."

Puck gaped at her. He had never seen anyone stood up to this way. She sounded like she had rehearsed this speech for months, just to get the inflections right. Her chest was heaving up and down - he could tell she was afraid of Azimio, but she was doing a damn good job of hiding it. He glanced at Kurt and Santana. Kurt was so flabbergasted he had even abandoned trying to wipe the slushie residue from his silk capelet. Santana looked impressed. Puck turned his attention back to the girl. She was still glaring at Azimio, and her eyes still looked like they could cut ice.

"You better watch out," hissed Azimio. His hammy hands were balled up into fists. "Run on back to the library, why don't you? You don't belong here."

The girl laughed, but Puck could tell it was forced. She was starting to look really frightened now.

"Really? I don't _belong_ here?" she scoffed. "Goodness, what tipped you off about that? I'm the smartest person in this school, probably in this town as well, and you don't think I'm smart enough to realize _that_? I'm going to New York when I get out of here. Or Paris. You're destined for the underpass."

All of a sudden, Azimio's fat fists were out and swinging, and the girl fell to the floor with a violent crash.


	3. Chapter 3

Several thoughts ran through Puck's head at once. First of all, the way she landed on her right hand as Azimio shoved her to the ground was pretty brutal. _That_ was going to hurt in the morning. Then he made a mental note to learn whatever roundhouse punch Azimio had used, because it was pretty damn effective. But then the non-asshole thoughts started coming to him, and he realized, _Azimio just hit a girl! We don't hit girls around here!_

"Hey!" he found himself yelling. Azimio was lunging toward her, ready to strike again. Puck threw himself at Azimio, grabbing his shoulders and wrenching him into the nearest wall of lockers.

"What do you think you're doing? You just hit a _girl_, punk!" he bellowed. He swung his fist, aiming for Azimio's despicable face, but Azimio dodged out of the way just in time and staggered a few steps down the hallway.

"I'll be back!" he yelled at the girl, who looked like she was about to pass out from shock. "Sometime when you haven't got some delinquent here to defend you!" He turned on his heel and headed down the hallway.

"Who you callin' delinquent, punk?" Puck hollered after him, but he was already gone. He punched a locker just to vent some of his anger, but only ended up hurting his fist.

"Well handled, Puckerman," Santana sneered. "Should have let Auntie Snix take care of that one."

She turned to Kurt, who by this time had managed to procure a handkerchief, dry and undamaged by the slushie, from his breast pocket and was gingerly dabbing his face with it.

"Come on, sister," she sighed. "Let's go to the ladies' room and get you cleaned up."

Santana took a rather shell-shocked Kurt by the shoulders and steered him away down the hall towards the restrooms.

Puck turned his attention back towards the girl, who had now propped herself up on her elbow with a pained expression on her face. He rushed to her side and knelt down, placing a hand gingerly on her shoulder.

"All you all right?" he asked, trying to speak calmly. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop him from hitting you. We should report this to Principal Figgins for sure, he'll get that kid finally locked up in juvie where he belongs."

The girl looked him right in the eye. Her own eyes were mostly obscured by her bangs, but they were shooting lasers at him. He knew that look, his teachers used it all the time. She was sending him mental "You're stupid" messages.

"We are _not_ reporting this," she hissed. She cast around to make sure no one was watching, but there was really no need. 3:30 on a Friday? Practically everyone would already by drunk by now. "Just help me get up. Then you can go away and forget this ever happened."

"Hold up," said Puck, smiling. "I'm not gonna forget this. We owe you one. That was some serious ass-kicking back there. Too bad that idiot was too stupid to realize he'd been properly taken down by a girl."

Now sitting up fully, the girl jabbed a finger into his chest, glaring even more ferociously.

"Did you hear me? Do _not_ tell anyone about this," she whispered desperately.

"Are you crazy?" exclaimed Puck. "He deserves it!" He stood and put out his hand to help her up, but she ignored it. Instead, she attempted to clamber to her feet by herself, but collapsed on her right leg, wincing.

"Whoa there," said Puck. "Easy does it. If you've got a sprained ankle, we've got to get you to the hospital." He put out his hand again, and this time decided to throw in one of his seductive smirks for good measure. The ladies couldn't resist his seductive smirks.

She scowled at him and crossed her arms.

Well, except for her.

"I don't need to go the hospital. Just help me up so I can get to the nurse's office," she huffed.

Wordlessly, he put out his hand for a third time. Rolling her eyes, she finally took it and he hoisted her to her feet. She hopped a little, almost falling over, but he quickly grabbed her waist to steady her and she hooked her arm around his shoulder to keep her balance. They set off slowly down the hallway towards the nurse's office, pausing every other step as she transferred weight to her left leg. As they walked, the top of her head just brushing the side of his neck, Puck suddenly realized how good she smelled – sweet like vanilla and spicy like pine trees. He could feel the fingers on her left hand digging into his shoulder, and he imagined each muscle perfectly poised from the years she must have spent practicing her violin. Her waist was warm and moved at his touch. He found himself fascinated by such a waist – narrow but soft, unlike the hard, flat Cheerio abs he was so accustomed to. His hand had been around so many waists it was hard to count – Santana's sculpted abdomen, Zizes' fleshy midsection, Quinn's stomach smooth as silk. But none of them felt like this. It seemed to radiate warmth. His hand molded to the soft skin. He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling, but he only inhaled more of her scent; cookies and hemlock. It was dizzying.

Puck only noticed they had arrived at the nurse's office when the girl took her arm off his shoulder, trying to turn away.

"Hey, not so fast," said Puck, slipping his hand from her waist and resting it on her shoulder. It was just as warm. "You need a witness." He rapped the door of the office three times before opening it slowly. But before he could even open his mouth, the girl slid into the office on her good foot and began to speak.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Blumenthal?" she inquired matter-of-factly. "I was about to go to Chemistry Club on the 2nd floor, but I stepped on the first stair a little funny and I think I've sprained my ankle."

She tossed a look over her shoulder at Puck, who was still standing in the doorway, dazed. She eyed him expectantly.

"Uh, yeah," he found himself saying. "I was passing by and helped her get here, 'cuz, you know, she couldn't really walk…"

As soon as the little white lie left his mouth, he regretted it. But why? He lied all the time! Heck, he lied every time his mom asked him how his day was at school ("It was fine, Mom, really, I got some good grades today"). But this felt different. It might have been because Azimio was a big fat slimeball and needed what was coming to him. But every time he looked at the girl, whom Mrs. Blumenthal was now fussing over, he felt a little wrench in his stomach. He just knew she didn't deserve what Azimio had done to her.


	4. Chapter 4

"Is there something that you want?"

Half an hour had passed since the girl had gotten punched, and likewise half an hour had passed since he was due at glee club, but Puck felt compelled to stay with her. He didn't really know why – she wasn't hot enough to make trying to get into her pants worth it, especially not with that monster attitude she had. But he hadn't been able to get the sound of her violin out of his head ever since he first heard it. He tried jamming out on his guitar, he tried talking to Brittany, he even tried putting a pillow over his head, but nothing worked. It just wouldn't leave. He needed to know more about her.

She was lying on the cot, propped up by a couple pillows that he knew felt like corrugated cardboard, her right ankle wrapped inexpertly in an Ace bandage. The looks she was currently giving him suggested that her ankle was probably the only reason why she wasn't currently kicking the crap out of him for sticking around.

"I…"

He wracked his brains for something to say.

"Your parents going to be here soon?" he finally asked lamely.

"Unlikely," she answered huffily, rolling her eyes. "They'll probably expect me to walk home."

Puck grimaced.

"That's rough," he said, sitting down on the edge of the cot. The only other chair in the office was Mrs. Blumenthal malfunctioning rotating one, and while he normally would have relished the thought of the quiet rebellion that was sitting in a teacher's chair while the teacher was out of the room, it would probably break as soon as he sat down and totally ruin any first impression he was making with the girl. Not that he had much of one now that he had tried to punch this kid's lights out in front of her, but maybe this girl didn't know about Puckasaurus. At any rate, he sure as hell wasn't going to sit on the floor.

"Hey," he said, a thought coming to him. "What's your name?" He couldn't believe he'd gone this entire time without even bothering to ask.

She actually warmed a little at that. Well, sort of. She didn't up the ante on her glare again, so that must have been a good sign.

"Avery," she said. "Avery St. John. Yourself?"

"Noah Puckerman," he answered. "But everyone calls me Puck."

And then the most remarkable thing happened: she smiled. She was one of those girls who tended to smile with her entire face, teeth and eyes and everything. Puck noticed she had awkwardly small teeth.

"Puck?" she inquired, looking genuinely interested. "Like the Shakespearean fairy?"

Puck frowned, not knowing quite how to respond.

"No…" he answered slowly, furrowing his brow. "Like my last name."

Her eyes were all wide and earnest now. It was kind of freaking him out.

"Are you not familiar with the characterization of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_?" she asked, all prim and inquisitive.

Puck snorted a little.

"That sounds like an English teacher question," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Only if you hadn't read the book," she said, smirking a little. He noticed she was actually kind of pretty when she smiled – it was a pity she didn't do it too often. Her cheeks were so round and rosy, her eyes so dark and rich; it was a lot to take in. He was so used to Quinn and Santana's diminutive button noses, Brittany and Tina's small, plain eyes, that Avery's strong features seemed to him like they were carved deeply into marble and stained with saturated hues. She looked like a painting to him. He figured most artists would want to find something interesting to paint – you know, a big nose or a lopsided mouth or something. Something to make the painting stand out. That's what Avery looked like; one of those paintings.

"Say," he said, a thought coming to him. "What dirt do you have on that overgrown gorilla?"

"Beg pardon?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"You know," said Puck, dropping his voice a little. "Azimio was practically tripping over his feet he was so excited to knock you out. But I've never seen anyone chicken out so fast." Puck knew he was onto something, because she started looking real uncomfortable. She had been pretty good at hiding whatever she was thinking for a while there. I mean, she was still kind of looking at him like she thought he was made out of dirt, although he was certain that saving her from Azimio gained him a few points in her favor. And she told an outright lie to Ms. Blumenthal without batting an eye. But now she started to look pretty uneasy. She drew back and didn't answer.

"Come on," he said, putting on his famous smirk in a latch-ditch attempt to make her warm to him. It didn't really work. "You can tell me! I won't tell anyone. Promise." He wasn't entirely sure why he was working so hard to make her open up. He had already established that trying to get into her pants just wasn't worth it, and she was turning out to be a right pain in the ass to boot, if a strangely sneaky-hot one at that. But he knew he couldn't simply pass up such a bad-ass just because she looked at him like he was made of slugs. If he could convince her to join glee club long enough to play some crazy and impressive violin solo in the middle of one of their songs, Nationals would be in the bag. No other team would have a violinist. She was so good she could probably win the entire thing by herself, he just knew it.

"If you must know," she said slowly, re-crossing her arms defensively over her chest, "he's paying me to do his homework for him."

Puck felt like he should have been knocked as flat as a pancake out of shock or something, but to be honest, he really wasn't surprised. She had always struck him as one of those gifted-and-talented chicks who gets straight-A's in all of her AP courses and is a star member of the debate team or the Mathletes or something. You know, a Hermione Granger type. Maybe that's why she was so mean to him and Azimio. Stupid people must piss her off.

"Gee," he said. "And he tried to break your face over it? How much is he paying you?"

"That's none of your concern," she said icily. "He's not skimping any of his payments, if that's what you're wondering."

"No, not at all," he said hastily. He had been doing so well at keeping her cordial. "I'm just wondering… why do you do it?"

She looked like she was about to open her mouth and say something when there was a knock at the door. Ms. Blumenthal eased the door open a crack.

"Avery, dear? Your father is here to bring you home."

"Excellent, finally," she breathed, tossing her legs over the side of the cot. She eased herself up gingerly and, balancing her weight on her right leg, hopped over to the door where she could grab Ms. Blumenthal's stooped shoulder for support. But then she hesitated, looking over at him.

"Take it easy, fairy. Thanks for the sympathy."

And with a final hop and a smirk, she was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

_Holy shit, this place is huge._

So, he had been really late to glee club. Like, _really_ late. Like, Berry-was-already-halfway-through-her-speech late. She gave him this look as he tried to slouch in surreptitiously, like this how-dare-you-not-wait-for-the-applause-to-walk-in look. He almost threw his backpack to the ground and screamed, "Why is everyone so obsessed with looking at me like I'm a cockroach or something today?" But then he saw Mr. Schue get that confused look he gets when he's onto something, so he ran and grabbed a seat behind Finn, who, even on the riser below him, should have been tall enough to hide him or a least shield him from the blast, if it hadn't been for the fact that Mr. Schue already saw him come in. The only flaw in an otherwise-perfect plan, of course. Mr. Schue even made Berry stop talking so he could interrogate him about his whereabouts, which sure ruffled her feathers, but Finn got up and grabbed her hand and pulled her back to their seats, which placated her a little bit. Then he had to tell this great big whopping lie about how he stubbed his toe chasing down Azimio after he nailed Kurt with the slushie and had to crawl to the nurse's office on his right elbow for a Band-Aid and some antiseptic. Blaine and Brittany didn't look too satisfied with the story, but he just had to trust that when Kurt and Santana got back from the bathroom, they wouldn't care enough about the Avery incident to mention it. Avery was his little secret. But he couldn't count on how long it would stay that way.

So here he was, on a perfectly good Sunday evening, at some overgrown auditorium, to try to find Avery and convince her to join glee club. In any other circumstance, it would have been completely ridiculous, but Avery was worth it. Her talent was worth it. He couldn't wait to see the looks on everyone's faces when they see what she can do. They'd owe him for _years_.

The place really was humongous, though. There were a bunch of marble statues of buff, naked people lining the walls of the balcony, and the ceiling was big and domed and made out of what was definitely solid gold. He was really proud of himself for finding it, too. He figured that since Avery wasn't in the glee band, she must be in some group outside school, because what else is there to do, really? First he tried Googling her name, but it only came up with a bunch of classical competition's she'd apparently won or placed in (which he had to admit was pretty impressive, seeing her name listed next to all these Asians and Russians under some official heading with the word "international" in the title). It made winning Regionals seem a little insignificant. But then he had a stroke of genius. He clicked on one of her headshots, scrolled down the page, and read her bio. The last time he read was when he was trying to help Artie comb through the Show Choir Rule Book to figure out how to get Sebastian on something good, and he was quite proud of himself for remembering reading as a possibility. And after a long list of teachers and awards and competitions, right at the bottom of the page, it said, "Miss St. John has been a member of the Cincinnati Youth Orchestra since 2006."

And he actually did it. He actually got in his car and drove two hours to Cincinnati just to find this girl and hope she wasn't sick or something and missed her rehearsal. He almost turned around and went back when he remembered that she broke her ankle, but then he realized that you didn't really need ankles (or legs, for that matter) to play violin and kept on driving. It was a good thing he brought along his Zeppelin CDs and cell phone so he could sext the Cheerios he had on speed dial, because otherwise he probably would have fallen asleep on the long drive to Cincinnati.

So anyway, when he was done gaping like a goldfish at the size of the place, he realized that there was an orchestra on the stage. And they were playing. And they were pretty damn good. He scanned the front row of violins for Avery, and sure enough, there she was, sitting right behind the first chair and sawing away like a madwoman.

Well, actually, _everyone_ was sawing away. They were all pretty much rocking out. Really. It couldn't have been classical. It was just too cool. Loud and exhilarating and… damn. It sounded pretty hard.

He took a seat in the shadow underneath the balcony, put his feet up on the seat in front of him, and closed his eyes.

_Tap, tap, tap. _

"First violins! What dynamic do you have printed 10 measures before rehearsal C?"

"Fortissimo, maestro."

"Well, then, play it fortissimo! I want it to sound like you're running behind a bulldozer, and the bulldozer is catching up! With _urgency_! Come on, first violins at rehearsal B!"

They played it again and Puck could have sworn there was a bulldozer chasing him, too.

_Tap, tap, tap_.

"No, no, _no_, first violins! More! And watch the intonation on that arpeggio! Again!"

They played it again, even more flawlessly than the time before. Puck had to catch his breath.

_Tap, tap, tap._

"Firsts, please concentrate on the center of your tone there. I want it like, BAM! Like a wind tunnel. Again!"

They played it a third time, and this time Puck almost fell out of his seat from the force of the wind.

_Tap, tap, tap._

"All right, that'll do. That's enough for tonight. Everyone, go home and _practice your parts_. I don't want to hear any negative reports from your sectional coaches next week. Clarinets, I expect the passage before the recap to be better in tune next Sunday. Cellos, sort out your fingerings and bowings for next rehearsal. Same goes for you, violas. And percussion, don't forget to make those new mallets. Good work, everyone. You can go ahead and pack up."

There was a great rustling of coats and banging of chairs. Puck opened his eyes and jumped up. Avery was already zipping up her violin case with half an arm through the sleeve of her navy peacoat. In his haste to squeeze out of the row of seats, he banged his knee on the arm of a chair. Wincing, he limped quickly down the aisle just as Avery leaped down from the stage, her violin case strapped across her back.

"Avery!"

She started and looked up. Her nose wrinkled and she squinted, looking around for the person who had called her name.

"Avery, over here! It's me!" Puck vaulted over the rows of seats until he was standing right in front of her. She looked him dead in the face, and her expression of confusion morphed quickly to recognition and then suspicion.

"It's you," she said, frowning. "Puck, right? The fairy?"

Puck decided it would be better not to argue with her.

"Yeah," he said. "That's me."

"What are you doing here?" she asked. She didn't look angry, but pleasantly surprised and possibly even flattered. Puck's spirits rose a little; she was already in a good mood. Maybe he had just caught her on a bad day the day he saved her from Azimio and took her to the nurse's office.

"I, uh, I found it on the internet," he said, almost defensively. "It said in one of your competition bios that you were in this orchestra, and then it said that it rehearsed here on Sundays from 4 to 8, so… I, uh, I came because I wanted to ask you something," he finished lamely.

She laughed a little at that, blinking in disbelief.

"You drove all the way to Cincinnati just to ask me a question?"

"Well, I mean, it's a pretty important question," he said, trying not to seem stupid.

"Well," she said slowly, digging underneath her coat to unearth a little clock pendant on a leather cord and regarding it worriedly. "I've got a bus to catch in five minutes if I want to make it back to Lima by midnight."

"Hey, no worries, I can give you a ride. We can talk in the car," he said, perking up at that. Two hours in a car with the suave Puckasaurus? She'd be eating out of his hand by the time they got back to Lima.

She eyed him skeptically.

"Are you a safe driver?" she asked.

"The safest," he responded, making a mental note to turn off his cell phone.

She chewed her lip, weighing her options.

"All right," she capitulated. "Might as well. But if you bring me to a crackhouse or sell me to a brothel, you're going to have to answer to my father."


	6. Chapter 6

"If you take a left turn at College Street, it'll only take four minutes and twenty-seven seconds to get onto the highway, you know," said Avery, tapping her fingers on the window.

They were speeding down the streets of Cincinnati (well, not speeding, exactly, because Avery had made it quite clear that she could calculate how many miles above or below the speed limit he was going by sensing the air speed velocity as she stuck her hand out the window and remembering exactly what the last speed limit posting had been because of her photographic memory or whatever it was, and Puck had a feeling that if she could do all that without a compass or a calculator, then she could probably make his head explode with her mind as well if he dared go a mile over the speed limit). It was dark out, but not menacingly so; the sky was more of an inky blue color, the kind of sky that always seemed to be hovering over Paris in romantic comedies. And there were lights. Red lights and green lights and flashes and beeps. And they were _everywhere._ Like, he had been to New York, but ever since Finn broke up with Quinn up until he got back together with Rachel, he had been completely baked because he figured that at least one of them was going to make his life hell until the whole inevitable business was over. So he never really noticed the city lights. Ee noticed lights, that was for sure. Only trouble was, he couldn't really remember whether they were real or not.

"_Exactly_ four minutes and twenty-seven seconds?" he asked Avery, turning his head to glance at her briefly before dutifully gluing his eyes back to the road.

"I calculated it by extrapolating from mileage and speed data," she said, completely serious.

"Gee... so you're like, one of those beautiful-mind, genius guys," he said, still trying to wrap his head around what she had just said.

She made a little frown and shrugged.

"I guess, if you exaggerated a little," she said dismissively. "I try hard, at least. I'm taking AP Physics and AP Calculus and I've never gotten anything less than a 4.0 in my life. But that whole bit about going to Chemistry Club was a complete lie, I figured it'd be more believable because Chemistry is the standard sophomore science course. The truth is, I'm way behind on extracurriculars. I don't do anything except school and violin."

Puck angled the steering wheel and they slid onto the highway.

"But you have friends, right?"

Avery was gazing out the window and toying with a strand of her hair. She chuckled a little at that. Puck noticed that when she laughed, her bosom bounced a little. He had to admit it was pretty cute.

"Yeah," she said. "I've got four best friends. They're all guys, and they're all exactly like me. You probably know them, too. It's Solomon, Martin, Reed, and Theo."

"The brain trust!" he exclaimed, recognizing the four names. They were kind of infamous at McKinley, in a way that almost made you believe they were popular. They were the kind of guys you went to when you needed help on your homework or a good recipe for mango chutney. But they weren't nerds – sure, they read comic books and watched _Star Wars_ and _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_, but they didn't wallow in it, you know? People thought of them more as just the smart guys that you wanted your name to be close to alphabetically when teachers went down the list for group projects. I mean, he assumed so. He had never actually talked to them. No one really did.

"Yeah, that's us," she said wearily. "I'm part of the brain trust too, you know. Only, funny part is, no one ever mentions Avery. Not even them, sometimes. I'm just kind of that girl who tags along and they let me hang out with them because they know I'm just as smart as they are."

"Sound like some great friends," said Puck sarcastically.

"No, they are!" she said, immediately defensive. "I'm like their little sister. They're nice to me in their own weird little way. This one time, a guy started hitting on me and they just appeared out of nowhere, saying that if he ever did anything to hurt me they'd never give him another answer in Physics again, and he _bolted_. I sleep over at their houses all the time and it's not weird. We do the same thing every Friday night – go to one of our houses, fool around on the computer for a while, break stuff so we can fix it, argue about _Myth Busters_, order pizza and watch a movie. Then the next morning we cook a really elaborate breakfast and play _Hypertheticals_. Sometimes we go out for dinner, but only if the Lima Shakespeare Company is playing or there's a new Jerry Bruckheimer movie they want to drag me to. The same thing every Friday. It's a _routine_. And it's nice because when they're not treating me like one of the guys, they're treating me like a young Jedi who has to learn the ways of geekdom. They just kind of…"

She trailed off.

"Kind of…?" prompted Puck, raising his eyebrows.

"I'm a girl," she said flatly. "That's kind of a hard thing to understand for them. We can all finish our sentences for each other, but every time I have to put on a nice dress for a concert they just freeze up. It's like we're aliens to each other sometimes. They don't really understand being into clothes or boys or make-up, which aren't things that really interest me but it's in my nature, I guess. I know about it. They don't."

"So, that's it," said Puck a little warily. "You've got four best friends and… what, no one else?"

"That's a heck of a lot more than some people get," she said shortly. "It's nice to be part of a group, a group that gets me. They protect me like a sister, and when it's all five of us we're just inseparable. They don't really notice I'm a girl until I start acting like one. I don't know if I could ask for much more." She went back to staring out the window.

"I didn't mean to offend you or anything," said Puck hastily. Things had been going so well, he certainly didn't want to screw it all up.

"None taken. My self-esteem is not meted out to me by my so-called peers," she replied succinctly.

Puck blinked rather blankly.

"Well, okay," he said, having no idea what she meant by any of that. He grasped onto something that he had half-way understood.

"What do you mean, acting like a girl?" he asked. "You say it like it's a bad thing."

"Being obsessed with appearance for the sake of attracting a mate, acting stupid for the sake of attracting a mate, waiving standards and decency for the sake of attracting a mate," she began. "I could go on and on. It's not that being a girl is a bad thing. It just sucks that so many of them think it's so important to be perceived as 'desirable' that they'll go to any lengths. And some of them are pretty dumb to begin with," she said bitterly.

"Gee," said Puck. "You act like you don't even consider yourself one of them."

"In many ways," she said quietly, "I'm really not."

She glanced over at Puck and caught him raising his eyebrows at her. She groaned.

"I am a heterosexual and I identify as female," she said pedantically, rolling her eyes. "I just don't identify _with_ a lot of females."

_Jesus Christ_, thought Puck. _Here I was, thinking I had a chance of maybe getting it on with this power chick, and now I find out she's the biggest flaming tomboy on the planet. Just great. Probably thinks boys are full of scum too, except the nerds she hangs out with._

"Listen here," he said, attempting to salvage the conversation. "I came in the first place because I wanted to ask you a question."

"I'm still not planning on telling you why I'm doing the football team's homework," she said quickly.

Damn, she had a good memory.

"No, no," he said hastily. "A different question."

He cast around for a way to explain himself.

"Here's the deal," he began. "I saw you in the auditorium last week. Before you jacked up your ankle and everything. I saw you practicing your violin. And I was really impressed. Like, _really impressed._ You have no idea. I play guitar and I sing and everything, but I didn't think it was possible to be that talented. Like… wow."

He was momentarily rendered speechless. He glanced at her cautiously, and she looked like she was slowly digesting what he was saying.

"Anyhow," he said, plowing on nervously. "I was wondering if maybe you wanted to join the glee club. You know, singing and dancing and all that. Nationals are next month, and if we had a violinist on our squad we'd win it _hands down._ I'm asking because, you know, I saved your life and all." He tried the smirk again in a last-ditch attempt to make it work.

She rolled her eyes.

"You didn't save my life," she said. "But hold on. Back up just a second. When did you hear me in the auditorium?"

"Last week," he repeated. "I walked in because I wanted to check the time, and you were on the stage just blowing my mind and everything." He thought he was doing a great job of laying the flattery on pretty thick. So far, she didn't seem too opposed to the idea. He was getting somewhere.

She frowned, furrowing her eyebrows.

"You heard me practicing? And you thought I was that good?" she asked. She seemed a little shell-shocked.

"Well, duh! Dude, you were owning it up there. Total badassery on the line. What was it you were playing, anyway? Song's been stuck in my head all week!" he replied.

"Shostakovich," she said slowly. "Probably. And it's a piece, not a song. I'm betting I wouldn't get such a reaction from scales or etudes." She swiveled in her seat to look him square in the face.

"So, let me get this straight. You want me to come join your little show-tune club to help you win a competition because you heard me practicing Shostakovich for five seconds in an empty auditorium." She was challenging him. He decided not to rise to the bait.

"Yep," he said. "Consider it a win-win situation. We get to win, and you get another extracurricular to put on your application to Yale or Juilliard or wherever you want to go."

She smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

"You hired a classical violinist?"

Puck felt like he was on trial. He stood at the front of the choir room, facing an incredulous and entirely skeptical glee club. Mercedes, Santana, and Brittany were all giving him their trademark Troubletones 'tude, except for Sugar who was out to lunch as usual. Finn and Sam were blinking at him like they had just popped out the ground or a cave or something and the light was hurting their eyes, and Rachel and Kurt both looked like they had just swallowed eggs. Probably some acting technique they were trying to perfect. It sure skeeved him out, so they must have been doing it right.

"You're not listening to what I'm saying," he replied imploringly. "This girl is out of this world. Just wait till you hear her. She can play _anything. _She's going to win us that Nationals trophy. And I didn't _hire_ her. She wants to try it out for a week and if she likes it, she'll stay."

"You know, being so close to Nationals, I wonder if it's at all prudent to introduce a new factor into our team dynamic," said Rachel matter-of-factly, her lips pursed.

"I think Rachel has a point, Puck," said Mr. Schue, jumping in. "We all appreciate what you're trying to do here, but don't you think it's a little late in the game?"

"Yeah, have a little faith, dude," chimed in Finn. "I think we can win it all without any help." He grasped Rachel's hand and smiled at her.

"Come on, just give her a chance," begged Puck. He couldn't believe he had to defend her so strongly. He thought they'd be all over him with thanks and praise and free gift certificates to Breadstix. "It's not like we've been much of a team lately anyway, with our songs still not picked and everything."

Rachel was clearly about to open her mouth again, but Kurt spoke instead.

"What's this girl like, Puck?" he asked. "You haven't told us anything about her yet."

Puck winced inwardly, mentally kicking himself for forgetting to bribe Kurt and Santana with something so they wouldn't freak out and tell everyone how she had stood up to Azimio, which wouldn't be so bad but he had put so much hard work and effort into that syphilis story that it would be annoying to have it all put to waste. Kurt would be easy – now that he and Blaine were obviously getting it in on a weekly basis, all he had to do would be to drop a few subtle hints about his thorough arsenal of data about what guys like – you know, the masculine ones. Santana was going to be difficult, though. It would have been a lot easier if she was still into guys.

"She's smart," he said a little wistfully, remembering their car ride home together. As soon as the glee club negotiating business was over, she started asking him a billion questions about what AP's he was taking and which colleges he wanted to apply to, and after a while he got tired of dodging the questions and just told her straight up that he was stupid in school and that was that, but she jumped on the opportunity like some kind of vicious animal and by the time they got back to Lima, she had taught him the proofs to seven trigonometric identifications and most of the chapter on the French Revolution. She had to be a genius to make that happen. "She's tough, doesn't take no for an answer. She's also kind of…" He trailed off, unsure of how to put it.

"Kind of what?" sneered Santana.

"She's special," he said, rather shortly. "Like, one of those real geniuses. People have just kind of made her life miserable for being so smart, so she has a hard time of it. She's just… defensive."

"So, what you're trying to say is that she acts like a bitch but she gets away with it by flaunting her superior intellect?" asked Artie, eyebrows raised.

"Represent," said Santana, smirking.

"_No_," said Puck, almost groaning with impatience. "She just doesn't act like you girls do."

"Oh, so she's like one of _those_ lesbians?" asked Santana wearily. "They are _so_ not hot…"

"For the last time, no!" shouted Puck. "And she's definitely not a lesbian."

"What, she tried to hit on you?" asked Quinn.

"God no," said Puck. "If anything it was kind of the opposite." He remembered flirting her up all throughout the car ride home, not just because he was trying to butter her up to get her in glee club, but because he genuinely though she was pretty neat, if a little annoying. He even tried to walk her to her door, but she jumped out of the car so fast you'd have thought it was on fire.

"Puck, just because you think a girl is hot doesn't automatically mean she has to be into you too," said Mike.

"That's not what I mean," groaned Puck exhaustedly. "She's not even…"

He looked around at the glee club. They were all gaping at him like fish. _Great_, he thought. _Now you've really stepped in it._

"Listen," he said. "I've obviously got my foot stuck in my mouth here – "

"Among other places," mumbled Kurt under his breath.

"- so why don't we just give her a chance? She'll be here tomorrow after some meeting she has with some department head."

Mr. Schue looked around at the club, drawing a breath.

"Show us what you got."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Note: I began writing this story before "On My Way" and "YesNo" aired, so I'm keeping most things the way they were roughly around the Christmas episode. Quinn is fine but not on the Cheerios, Finn and Rachel are not engaged, Sue is not pregnant, and Karofsky never tried to kill himself although he will most likely not be a part of this story. Will and Emma are engaged, though, and planning to get married shortly after Nationals. Hope you guys enjoy it so far! The next chapter will contain the first song. :)**_


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